Sleeping with Ghosts
by untilXourXend
Summary: She was just full of secrets. One glance at her and he could tell. She wasn't like any other victor he had met. She wasn't proud, didn't revel in the glory and embrace the riches and fame winning the games had to offer.


A/N: This is my first venture into HG fan fiction. I adore Finnick and Katniss, and as much as I love Peeta too I thought what the hell, why not throw my two favorites together. Hopefully, it doesn't suck. Lol.

Disclaimer: I own nothing, only borrowing the characters for my muse.

Oh, and this takes places after the first HG, not Catching Fire.

Also, consider this a prologue, hence why it's so short.

**Sleeping with Ghosts**

Night after night she awoke drenched in sweat, her cotton pajamas clinging to her damp skin, and her breathing labored, struggling to catch the oxygen to refuel her lungs. It was the same dream as last night. She stared down at her shaking hands. They felt so heavy, so dirty. In her mind, they were still thick, slippery, and coated with crimson life. She could still smell the blood sometimes, burning in her nares and down her throat, metallic taste coating her throat. Peeta. It was always Peeta's blood. Not Rue's. Not Clove's. Not Marvel's. Peeta's. Always _Peeta'_s.

Katniss tossed the flimsy sheet aside, and tried to stand. Her balance swayed slightly, as she pursed her lips and tried to even out her breathing and slow her rapidly pounding heart. In and out, over and over again. When she felt a little less shaky and her breathing evened, she walked toward the window, the plush padding beneath her bare feet supporting her. She never had carpet in her home in district 12. She wasn't sure if she liked it yet. The feeling, the rich plushness and support it gave to her feet. It wasn't her, it wasn't Katniss.

The scene that lay before her eyes was fake, of course. The moonlight shining through the window, illuminating the darkness that penetrated Katniss's life. The stars and clouds in the sky. The tall city buildings and lights that sparkled. It was all fake. The entire world around her was fake. Her slender hand raised to touch the cool glass, and she rested her forehead on the glass, her breath fogging the glass.

This was her life, every night and here after.

A slave.

A possession.

Fractured.

Not completely broken, yet but fractured. How long it would take until she got there, she wouldn't know. Every day she felt a little closer to teetering on the edge. She had promised though that she wouldn't break. Promised him. No matter how much she may have wanted to, craved too to give in and crash, she couldn't, she wouldn't. He gave his life for her's.

But what life was she really living?

Because this wasn't it, this wasn't her life.

A puppet to those in the Capitol?

This wasn't Katniss Everdeen.

This wasn't her life.

At least that's what she told herself night after night.

As the lone tear fell from her eyes, she squeezed her eyes shut, embracing the chill and darkness in the air. "Peeta," she painfully whispered to the dark, to no one. She wouldn't ask to stop the pain though, because it was real; the only thing real she had in her life. It was the only reminder that the past few months of her life had happened.

_Bend and not break_, Katniss. Keep fighting.

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The first time he had seen her in person she looked incredibly uncomfortable, to say the least. All her "Congratulations" from the Capitolites, as he called them, fawning and preening over her left a tang of bitter distaste in his mouth. He noticed the way she would play with her signature braid, focus her eyes on something in the back of the room, or when her head tilted to the side, and her neck strained as if she was literally trying to bite her tongue to let the words of distaste slip from her lips. Oh, and she was just _full_ of secrets. One glance at her and he could tell.

She wasn't like any other victor he had met. She wasn't proud, didn't revel in the glory and embrace the riches and fame winning the games had to offer. What he also noticed was the way Snow kept looking at Katniss, as if she were prey. In the Capitol, she likely was. But this was different. It was the same look Snow had given him several times. He knew what would eventually happen to Katniss, the life she would be forced to embrace. He wanted to choke at the thought, and the bile rising in his throat. She was an innocent. And Snow just _loved_ to prey on the innocent.

He would know better than anyone else. That had been him once.

She had no idea of the life that was about to become hers. Living, if you could even call it that.

Snow kept his beady, snake like eyes on hers nearly the entire night; a small smirk graced his lips when Katniss would slightly cringe from the Capitolites merely touching her, kissing her hand as if she was something to be worshiped for her brutality and the violence inside her petite form.

That all too familiar feeling surged inside of him, in the deepest pits of his stomach and consuming up to his chest. The need to protect her and to _save_ her. Not since Annie had he had that sensation, and he didn't like it. Not one bit. It was the strangest thing really, considering her name had only graced her lips once in her presence. Once was enough apparently, as he fought that instinct.

How could he save someone her barely knew if he couldn't even same himself from his life of sin?

He wasn't sure. Against what his head told him, he found his feet and body gravitating towards her.

"Sorry to interrupt, but may I have this dance Miss Everdeen?" His strong hand reached for hers, and in that moment he saw relief flash in her eyes before being replaced with a look of wariness. Her hand extended to his and he embraced her small, lithe hand in his.

"I suppose, Mr. Odair. And may I ask what this might cost me?" her sarcasm laced her husky voice.

His white teeth shown brilliantly, and he was genuinely amused. He pulled her flush against him, whispering in her ear "A sugar cube. And a secret. The deepest secret you have to offer."


End file.
